Comfort And Joy
by the ramblin rose
Summary: ZA, but still AU. Caryl. It's Christmas Eve for Daryl and Carol. A time of comfort and joy. One shot written late for the "Joy Challenge" on Nine Lives. Just for fun.


**AN: Fluff Alert. **

**I was going to write this for the "joy" challenge, but I never got around to it. Today, though, was just one of those days where I needed to write something super fluffy for my own needs, and since this has been brewing since I considered writing it for the joy challenge, I thought that I might as well. **

**It's ZA, but it's AU. It really doesn't have a purpose, it's just a feel good kind of thing.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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_Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy…oh, tidings of comfort and joy…_

It was becoming clearer, as the night ticked slowly on, that she knew one verse of the song, and only one. She had been singing it throughout the day, almost since the sun had risen. She'd thrown in, here and there, the scattered lyrics of other songs that had been lost to them in every form besides memory, but she simply kept returning to that one, singing it soft and low.

She was singing it to herself, but Daryl could have heard her voice in the middle of a hurricane. He'd never been able to hear someone's voice quite like he could hers, but ever since he'd first heard her on the farm, crying for help and fearing for her life, he'd discovered that hers was one that his ears sought out even when he wasn't aware of what they were doing.

She went between humming and singing, and Daryl went between loving the sweet sound of her voice and wishing, simply for a break in the monotony of it, that she'd stop or at least sing something else.

The only time she stopped was when she busied her hands with something, and it was usually something that she wouldn't hear about him helping her with because he was, as she put it, too "busy" at the moment, even though he could easily have helped her if she'd allowed for it.

When her voice stopped reproducing the tone for the moment, Daryl sought her out with the eyes that he'd been resting, and found her hovering near the window of the almost dark cabin.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his own voice coming out louder than he wanted it to. He made a mental note to soften it. This wasn't the time for loud and booming sounds. Her own volume had set the tone for the day and it was soft and soothing…not loud and booming.

"Lighting a candle in the window," Carol replied, her voice just loud enough to travel across the space.

"Why?" Daryl asked.

Carol stood, the small flame she had left flickering in the dirty window of the cabin.

"Leave the window open like that and it's just going to call up Walkers to the fence," Daryl offered.

They had been in the cabin for a little over two years. Maybe they'd been there as long as three years. It was difficult to tell. The passage of time had been something that slipped away from them almost entirely. It was marked now by seasons more than anything.

The seasons told them when they needed to plow and plant. The seasons told them when the fresh food from their garden would be ready to harvest. They told Daryl when hunting for certain game would be wise for him to do to keep the smoke houses full.

And the seasons told them when to rest because all the preparations that they'd put into preparing for the winter would finally come to good use while they waited out the cold in the warmth of their home.

And their little home, though no mansion or grand estate on anyone's terms, was a wonderful little place.

It had become clear to Daryl, when the last straw had broken the camel's back, that Rick wasn't fit to lead their group any longer. Terminus had cost lives. It had very nearly cost everyone their life. When the few of them that were even left had pulled themselves together and treated the war wounds they wore from the encounter, they'd found that at the root of their freedom from the boxcar, the freedom that had given them the ability to fight for the lives they'd barely held onto, were the efforts of Tyreese and Carol who had stumbled upon Terminus but managed to avoid the trap…and particularly those of Carol since Tyreese had stayed somewhat behind to care for Judith while she'd gone in to investigate, feeling that if she got caught they'd take more mercy on a woman than they would a man.

At least, that's how Carol told the story. Daryl had never gotten the whole truth from her, but he supposed that it really had more to do with her having reached a point in her life where she felt she had very little left to lose…and like so many, at the end of her rope she'd found the strongest part of herself.

Daryl had never expected to see her again, so when he had, he'd very nearly used everything else he had left in his body to get to her, disbelieving that she was more than a mirage and he was seeing her, in his final moments, like a thirsting man in the desert.

But she'd been real. She'd been, if it were possible, more real to him then than she'd ever been before. Because he'd lost her, at that point, as many times as he was willing to lose her. As he'd always heard, he might have been a fool, but he wasn't a damned fool.

So when it had come out, then and there, that Rick didn't trust her and didn't want her around. When it had come out that he believed that she wasn't safe around the group and that he simply couldn't _let_ her continue on with them, no matter what she'd done and risked for their release and what safety anyone could have said they had at that point, Daryl hadn't hesitated to say that he agreed with Rick. Carol needed to go. She didn't need to be with the group. She needed to get as far away from Rick as was humanly possible.

And then he informed the man that he intended to go with her. Because he wouldn't be part of a group that couldn't accept the woman he loved.

They had found supplies, a truck, and were crossing the North Carolina state line before Carol ever said a thing to Daryl about his blurted and completely void-of-romance declaration of love.

And he still remembered, as clearly as if it had happened the day before, pulling the truck to a stop right in the middle of the winding road to repeat the statement as it should have been said…to repeat it as he'd meant to say it in the first place, having fallen short of his mark in the heat of the moment.

And since then? Since then he was pretty sure that he hadn't missed a single day saying it, and every time he said it, the words felt smoother and richer on his tongue. Every time he heard it, echoing back from her, the words sounded like the sweetest things he could ever hear.

And so they'd built themselves a place to call home.

They'd used what they learned at the prison, along with some things that they thought up themselves, to fence in the large plot of land they laid claim to. They'd lived together, as warm and happy as they could be, in a tool shed while they'd built the cabin with their own hands…a kitchen with a special fireplace for Carol to cook at, two bedrooms, and a living area with a fireplace that warmed enough to heat the entire space to an almost sweltering temperature when Old Man Winter settled in for his long visit.

Their life wasn't perfect, and there were probably many people out there who lived much better than they did, but Daryl couldn't imagine that it was possible to be happier than they were.

Across the room, Carol watched the lone candle flickering softly on the windowsill. The silence that had replaced her earlier happy humming was almost deafening.

"You're supposed to leave a candle burning," Carol offered, "for those that you love who aren't with you. It's supposed to welcome them home…to welcome them back for Christmas."

It wasn't Christmas. Not really.

Or at least Daryl didn't think that it was Christmas. The first good snowfall had hit them the day before, though. It had effectively snowed them in with Daryl being the only one to dare to go out at all and walk in the waist deep snow toward the shed that held their wood so that he could refill the box they built by the door.

And the snow had made Carol go on and on about Christmas…her Christmas memories, what she'd loved about the holiday, and how much it had meant. Christmas had never meant much to Daryl, but he loved the light that burned in her eyes when she talked about it, so he'd declared that Christmas would come this year. And tonight, at least in their world, it was Christmas Eve.

"We got no one to welcome," Daryl ventured. "Just us now."

Carol hummed from where she stood. She looked out the window like she expected to see something besides her own reflection coming back at her. Then she turned and went to the fireplace, stoking the fire and adding another piece of wood, even though the fire wasn't anywhere near needing it at the moment.

It couldn't be Christmas without a tree…it simply couldn't. But around them there weren't really any trees that would have made great Christmas trees, and there were none that Daryl could have gotten back to the cabin on his own.

And he wasn't letting Carol go with him.

So he'd done the best he could and found her a small sapling that came barely to her waist.

But she'd decorated it up with aluminum foil, a few nuts, and some dried berries that she had in storage and strung up with a needle and thread.

It was the nicest Christmas tree that Daryl had ever seen.

Carol passed by it and adjusted the decorations on it with the light touches of her fingertips. She hummed the part of the song that had been essentially playing on repeat, and then she turned her head, smiling softly at Daryl.

There was a sadness in her eyes at the moment that hadn't been there before.

"You're not supposed to be sad," Daryl offered. "It's Christmas. There's a fire. Gonna have a good meal tomorrow. Tree looks pretty. You lit a candle for the Walkers out by the fence to enjoy. Everyone here is safe and warm. It's a good night."

"Even if they can't come," Carol offered, "not for real, I thought it might be nice to burn the candle for Sophia…the girls…Mika, Lizzie…even…for Merle if he was the type that wanted a home to come to during Christmas."

Daryl felt his chest catch as much at the tone of voice as it did at the mention of those that they'd lost, the closest ones they'd lost…though there were so many more that could have joined the ranks.

And now he felt terrible for having made the crack about the Walkers stuck on pikes down beyond their fence lines, looking back at the light that was the only thing that they could probably see even remotely clearly through their clouded eyes.

Daryl swallowed against the thickness in his throat and reached a hand out, careful not to stir too much.

Carol came over, leaning carefully on the arm of the chair that he'd brought for himself when they'd gone about searching out furniture for their little home, and took his hand. He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin on the top of her hand, bumped it along her knuckles, and pulled her hand up to kiss it.

"I think it's a real good idea," he offered. "Tell 'em all they got a place to go…if they're lookin' for it. Good home for Christmas, don't'cha think? Warm and…"

He stopped because he couldn't say anymore. His chest ached at the whole thought of it and he simply couldn't force the words out. His body, for the moment, had become void of the gift of speech.

Carol freed her hand from his and ran her fingers through his hair before she leaned and kissed his temple, her lips lingering there for a moment.

"It's a good home," she said softly. "Warm and comfortable…and full of love."

Daryl nodded his head. It was all that he could do for the moment. The lump having not dissolved in his throat.

He didn't like to show his emotions. He never had. And Carol had let him know that he was allowed to show them, and that she would never hold it against him that he had them, but he still wasn't comfortable with the idea yet.

So far he'd only cried in front of her twice. The day that she'd told him that she thought that she might be expecting a child, and he'd cried for happiness and fear and every other emotion that had come crashing down on him, and the night, almost three weeks before, when he'd brought their daughter into the world, screaming and furious about the harsh injustice done to her, and he'd cried from happiness to find that she and her mother both were well and would only grow better with the slow and easy passing of the winter days to come.

He didn't want to make tonight, his first Christmas Eve ever celebrated with his family, the third of such events.

Daryl cleared his throat harshly, more harshly than he meant to, and the tiny child sleeping on his chest stirred and added, in a sudden and shrill cry, her opinions on the matter. He chuckled lightly to himself, the sound of her screeching over something as insignificant as that…and the happiness that she lived a life, at least until now, where something of that nature was the biggest concern she knew…amusing to him and helping to dissolve his choking sensation.

"You better get this one to sleep again," Daryl offered. "Leave it to me…wake her up every time."

Carol gently took the baby from him and cradled her in her arms. She nuzzled her face and cooed at her, almost instantly calming the worst of the howls into the soft whimpering cries of simply desiring more.

"You've been good with her all evening," Carol commented. "She had to wake up eventually. She probably needs to be changed and wants to be fed."

"You oughta take her," Daryl said. "You oughta get some sleep. You need to rest and tomorrow's a big day. Don't need both of you cranky and sleepy."

Carol laughed softly at him, still kissing at the girl's face.

"What about you?" Carol asked.

Daryl sighed and considered it.

"I'ma stay up just a bit," he offered. "Got a lot on my mind. You go on and get some rest. OK?"

Carol leaned and Daryl leaned up to meet her, their lips grazing together in a kiss. He leaned enough to deepen it, catching her lips entirely and sighing at the happiness he felt that they were lips he could kiss whenever he pleased.

She offered the still fussing baby to him and he kissed her forehead. She looked angrily at him and he smiled to himself.

"You go sleep," he said. "I'ma stay up," he repeated. "Anyone comes worth keeping, I'll make sure they know they're welcome to stay the night."

He caught a smile from Carol before she eased up from her position and lingered only a moment longer to catch his hand and squeeze it in her own.

Then she headed for the small bedroom that they shared, their daughter in tow who had yet to sleep a single night in the extra room that they built for her, added as an afterthought to the house just as she was added to their family.

Daryl rooted down into his chair and watched the flickering flame of the candle dancing in the window. He didn't know if it was possible, really, for a flame like that to be seen by those who were already dead and gone…gone from the world but never forgotten by those left behind…but he hoped, at least in some way, that they knew that it was burning for them.

And he decided he would doze there, for at least a few hours, to give it time for the light of it to travel wherever it needed to go, just in case it let them know that they there was a home that would gladly have welcomed them.

From the bedroom, he could hear the sounds of Carol getting settled with the now clean baby for a nighttime meal and the cuddles and rocking that always preceeded actual sleep. Her voice chimed out, soft and sweet and soothing, lulling Daryl as much as it did the child that it was intended to soothe.

_Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy…oh, tidings of comfort and joy…_


End file.
